


Rivers Run Red

by Archangel Raphael (tsuduku)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crowley Created the Stars (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, I Made Myself Cry, I'm going to hell for writing this, No Sex, No Smut, Other, Self-Harm, Suicide, asexual friendly fic, do you like suffering? well you're in luck!, no beta we saunter vaguely downward, no happy ending, welcome to pain town! population: us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22461532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsuduku/pseuds/Archangel%20Raphael
Summary: Crawley witnesses the first shooting stars and he falls to pieces thinking that the Almighty is throwing away his old creations as a final act of rejection.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Rivers Run Red

**Author's Note:**

> whaddup here's yet another twitter inspired fic because i'm unoriginal and absolutely fucking miserable. did i write this instead of self harming or working on my wips? fuck yeah i did. 
> 
> MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR SELF HARM AND SUICIDE. DON'T READ IF YOU KNOW IT WILL AFFECT YOU. 
> 
> Inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/asphaloth/status/1218302743233720320) depressing fan art only I chose to make it even worse by not allowing Aziraphale to be there for comfort :)

Crawley was walking through the desert, alone and bitter. The nearby humans had figured out a way to bless their tiny city, which made it unbearable for demons to be anywhere near the city walls. So Crawley walked away, grumbling to himself about how humans shouldn’t have this sort of power and how it was all unfair bla bla bla. Crawley had stress-walked into the night, the small city now becoming a part of the landscape behind him. He began to feel tired and finally snapped out of his walking trance. It was a mild night and the sky was clear. There wasn’t a human in sight, and no signs of a nearby village, so it was safe to fly off to the next city to cause mischief. 

Just as Crawley had looked up into the night sky, preparing to take off, something caught his eye. A streak of light flew across the heavens, and disappeared into the darkness. Crawley was going to write it off as mere trick of the light, a fluke, when suddenly another streak of light appeared and subsequently disappeared. Then another, and another, and another… 

Crawley soon realized what these streaks of light were, and his heart broke. 

Stars. 

Those streaks of light were stars being thrown across the sky by the Almighty. 

The stars he created as a once heavenly being, were now being thrown out into the void in front of his very eyes. 

What followed was completely out of his control. 

Crawley fell to his knees, serpentine gaze fixed on the heavens above, and he screamed out in absolute agony. It felt as if holy water had just been poured into his mouth, burning its way down his throat, and into the very core of his essence. He watched helplessly as the final remnants of his time in heaven were cast out, fallen just like he once had. 

Were his creations never good enough? 

Had he never been good enough?

Had he not suffered enough?

Had he truly been that bad of an angel? 

Were his acts as a demon on Earth so despicable that the Almighty didn't even want to remember him? 

In stark contrast, villages all around the area looked up in awe at the impressive display of light. Angels had reassured the faithful that this was not a bad omen for the humans, and the word spread amongst the chosen people of a rearranging of the cosmos. Many prayed in reverence, others thanked God for the experience, and some slept through it all. 

Out in the desert, Crawley’s pained sobs went unheard. He continued to cry and scream long after all the selected stars had made their journey across the night sky and into some void in the Ether, never to be seen again. He shrieked at the sky, asking his heavenly Mother “why?” 

Crawley howled at the moon, begging for forgiveness and pleading for some kind of an answer. But the night came and went, and the sunrise bringing him no closer to closure or relief.

* * *

Sometime that afternoon, Crawley finally regained his consciousness, becoming painfully aware of the state he was currently in. He felt the hot desert sun burning red marks into the skin on the high points of his body. His mouth was as dry as the sand that was now roasting his body out in the open. There were strands of his own fiery locks wedged between his dry, brittle nails, he had ripped out bits of his hair at some point in his grief. Worst of all, was his throat, scorched raw from all the screaming. 

His Mother had once kicked him out. Sent him away from his brethren, his home, and her love. Now She rid the heavens from every last reminder of his existence, right in front of his eyes. After falling, Crawley didn’t think there could be anything worse in all of existence, but unfortunately he had just been proven wrong. 

Crawley thought that he had escaped the horrors of Hell by coming to Earth to cause some trouble, but if this is what living here was like, then he no longer wanted any bit of it. Had Crawley just remained in Hell, he never would have witnessed how his Mother tore away his only accomplishment, his one glimmer of hope and nostalgic pride. 

A line of merchants was coming into view on the horizon, and Crawley slowly stood up to face them. As the merchants came closer they began to speed up, running towards Crawley, whom they assumed was some poor lost traveler in need of desperate help. He mustered up the final bits of demonic strength within him, and transformed in front of the merchants into what they imagined a demon to look like. Crawley lunged a large claw towards them, pulling away one of the merchant’s swords before they took off in terror. 

He waited until he could no longer hear the screaming caravan of merchants, and he raised the blade, remembering the sacrifices of the faithful to the Almighty.

Sure, he could simply go to the portal and go back to Hell, but they would likely send him back up in the blink of an eye on some burdensome assignment. 

No, this would ensure that he would likely stay down there. If not indefinitely, then at least for a century or two. 

Crawley looked back up into the sky, eyes burning from the sunlight, but there were no tears left in him. He moved his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. 

In his mind, he mumbled a prayer, offering this sacrifice up to the Almighty in hopes that he would be left alone from this point onward. 

He raised the sword to his wrist, slowly sliding it across like a violin bow, and watching as the melody of blood pouring out of his body and onto his skin. He did the same with the other wrist, watching rivers of red sprout from him and run down the length of his arms, staining the sand beneath him. 

Finally, Crawley closed his eyes and put the blade to his neck, blood cascading out of him. His vision blurred as the warmth was drained out of his body, and he returned to the sand. 

When he awoke, Crawley was back in the dingy basement of Hell. He didn’t resurface for another two centuries, when the birth of the messiah forced him to return to Earth.


End file.
